The dark professor slipped through the corridors of Hogwarts, a living shadow, students averting their faces as he passed. Greatly respected and much feared, the potion's master's aura was a swell of power that scattered everything that cared for it's skin from his path. He tried to not let their reaction bother him. After so many years, his features fell into natural lines of snarling malice. Such habits were difficult to break. And even at the age of 40, he felt too tired to try.
Professor Snape halted outside his rooms, brushing the fingertips of one hand across the ancient wooden door. It was ward and iron bound, but with a soft whisper, a gentle stroke the portal opened. A lover receiving the beloved.
"Lumos," he whispered, and several tall candles flared into life, soft yellow light spreading into the room. It was not the spartan chamber of horrors whispered of by many Hogwarts students. Rather the room was spacious and tastefully decorated with a few exceptional pieces. A small green sofa shared space before the empty grate with twin armchairs done in rich brocade of burgundy and green.
The room was dominated by a massive worktable. Standing waist high, the base was dark mahogany heavily carved with frolicking forest creatures, some animal, some not. The top was gleaming marble. It was on this surface that Snape deposited his parcels. Shrugging from his robes, he meticulously hung them on a brass hook by the door. Removing the roll of parchment from an inner pocket, the wizard checked that the door was locked and double warded before turning, unrolling the parchment as he walked over to the green sofa. Sighing deeply, Snape reclined back, crossing his long legs at the ankle, one booted heel resting on the cushions.
The parchment he had carried from Hogsmead had been posted days before and had changed carriers and containers many times before finally being placed in his slender hands. The news, while expected, was shocking none the less and had given him pause. In his possession was information so damning that it would be worth Snape's life. This would take some careful planing and maneuvering. His enemy was no novice at tracking down those who displeased him. History had proven Snape's enemy was as cunning as he was cruel. His path to success was strewn with the bodies of those foolish enough to challenge or scorn him. Severus Snape was no fool. He was closer than anyone had ever been before to exposing the dark truths so many had died to conceal. He was very near to the end of his task. The danger was building, but he welcomed it. He relished the thought of confronting and perhaps defeating his former dark master. If he died in the process, would it matter? Not to Severus Snape. He hadn't really been alive in years.
Black eyes slid over the letter, reading it through twice more to be sure of the content. The informant reported that a wizard fitting the description of Peter Pettigrew had been spotted in London. The spy had followed the ratty fellow for several days, witnessing the disposal of several drained bodies before finally being able to track the man back to a rotting mansion located on the edge of London. The spy had valued his skin to well to venture closer. Snape had no doubt that his spy was long gone from London, if not England all together. Voldemort had that effect on people.
The letter also mentioned the owner of the rotting house, one Lucius Malfoy. Though it was widely known that the Malfoys were great supporters of Voldemort, how to prove that Malfoy was aware of Pettigrew's presence in the ruin would prove difficult. Snape would have to catch Lucius at the house. This would mean a trip to London. If he could find evidence linking Malfoy, Pettigrew and others to Voldmort then perhaps the evil could be rooted out, destroyed. But how to get close enough without being detected? The Dark Mark on Snape's arm would alert his former master to his presence. Discovery meant death. And it would not be an easy death, for Voldemort could be extremely creative when devising ways of ridding himself of deceiving witches and wizards. During the days of Voldemort's power, Severus Snape had pledged his support of the evil wizard. He received the Dark Mark, a sign of the Death Eaters; Voldemort's most trusted inner circle. Snape had seen murder done on many occasions, committed a few himself. He had allowed his body to be used and perverted in ways that now, caused his soul to cringe. In his search for personal power and respect, Severus Snape had sold himself out to a lie. When realization struck, it had been a whelming blow. Shattered and broken, Snape had sought out Albus Dumbledore. With Dumbledore leading the way, a deal had been struck with the Ministry of Magic. Snape returned to Voldemort's inner circle, but now with a different goal, the destruction of the vile wizard and all who clung to him.
It would not do to have the letter found in his chambers. Rising, Professor Snape crossed the room to another ironbound door. He repeated the same type of opening charm coupled with physical contact and the door swung open. Inside was a treasure of spell components and herbs. Catching up a shallow iron bowl, he made a brief search of the shelves, pulling down two small containers. He carried the items into the main room and placed them on the massive marble-topped worktable. He laid the parchment in the shallow bowl and picked up the first phial. He sprinkled the fine red powder over the bowl and it's contents. After a brief wait, the spark and sizzle of a dissolving potion rewarded him. It ate away at the delicate skin, reducing it to a fine white ash. Taking up the second container, Snape carefully added two drops of a foul looking liquid. Instantly, the bowl and the ashes were wrapped in a lurid green flame. It danced for a brief moment before dying away. What remained in the bowl now resembled fine gray sand, all evidence of the message and its contents burned away. Taking the bowl to a stone sink in the corner, the silent wizard added enough water to enable him to sluice the contents from the bowl and down the drain. Now it would be impossible for anyone to reassemble the information. Even the ink used in the writing had been broken down past its original chemical form.
Satisfied, Snape placed a scouring charm over the bowl and the worktable. He moved to open the packages he brought from town. He unwrapped the parcels and stored them all efficiently. Spell components, quills, phials of shimmering liquid were all carefully placed in order. The last parcel displayed a jagged hole in one side. Opening the paper, Snape revealed a strange object lying among his purchases.
Snape picked the object up with finger and thumb. It was perhaps twelve inches long and slender, tapering to a blunt point at one end. On the other end dangled a black silk tassel. The stick was painted in bright red lacquer and had what appeared to be writing spiraling down the sides. He held the object high and turned it in the light, frowning as he studied the slender piece. Certainly, this could not be a wand? He swished it experimentally. Nothing. Holding the red stick in one hand he ran a slender finger down it's length, searching for traces of magic. Again, nothing. What was this thing and how had it come into his possession? Snape did not know. But even as an unknown, it was pretty, the wizard decided. Candle light slid along it's red surface and when he twirled it between his finger and thumb, the tassel flew out wildly. His curiosity unfilled, Snape placed the object in an empty ink well on his desk. Perhaps he would find the answers later.
For now his presence was required elsewhere. Tonight was the annual faculty gathering, an event Snape despised but attended out of duty. What care had he for the vacation stories from the other members of the staff? He possessed no interest in their photos or their stupid souvenirs. Tiny Professor Sprout has been promising to regal them all with tales of her vacation spent gathering rare forms of pigmy fungi. Ooo, wouldn't that be fun? It was rumored that headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had several surprise announcements to make this evening. Whatever the night held, Professor Snape hoped it would be over soon. He had better things to do with his time than swap postcards and admire brainless slogan tshirts.